


Love is a stranger who'll beckon you on

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, F/M, This is a love story not just because of the pairing, angst with happy ending, but also because of the love and support of Team Elizabeth for their girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: AU: In the 1540s, Henry VIII decides to marry his daughter Elizabeth to Charles V's son Philip. Philip is outraged, Elizabeth is terrified, but realpolitik is a harsh mistress. Elizabeth must use all her skills to adapt to such a drastic change in her life, and the pair must find a way to make it work.
Relationships: Elizabeth I of England & Catherine Parr, Elizabeth I of England/Felipe II de España | Philip II of Spain
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the Tumblr AU prompt, though not necessarily completely faithfully. Being an AU, I am trying to keep some historical details BUT I am aiming for plausibility and consistency rather than accuracy. I was going to wait until the fic is finished to post, but the draft is getting so long I wanted some of it up sooner rather than later. Chapter four should be ready soon, but the stuff in Spain still needs more research so the actual completion of the fic will take longer. However, if you enjoy this fic and concept you can always subscribe and hear when the next chapter is posted.

“You want a better story. Who wouldn't?”- Richard Siken

“It was taken for granted that her restoration to the succession meant that she [Elizabeth] was legitimate in the only sense that mattered: her potential claim to England, guaranteed by parliamentary statute... So from Scotland to Denmark she was regarded as a desirable royal bride and negotiated for accordingly. Even the Habsburgs started to come round and she was considered (not for the last time) as a wife to Philip of Spain.” –Cancelled Granddad, Elizabeth: Apprenticeship.

**Christmas, 1544**

“Elizabeth must marry,” Henry announced as he lay in bed next to Katherine Parr. “She’s nearly of a marriageable age, and growing into a fine young woman.”

“As radiant as only your daughters can be.”

“I saw the courtiers, Kate. I saw the way they looked at her, when they thought I wasn’t watching. Their hunger will only increases as she blossoms. They will not only want her for her place in the succession, they’ll want her little body too. When I am cradled in Christ’s arms, they will use her for their own selfish ambition, fight to bring her into their factions. I have been vulnerable to the seductions of evil women, and I have the wits of a man. How much more vulnerable will my little girl be? They will tempt her delicate womanhood with their sweet words, and lure her to her ruin.”

“We will protect her, until she is grown.”

“Can we, my love? I may not live long-“

“Don’t say that, you are strong and vigorous-“

“When I die, I’m not sure Edward will be able to shield her from them. He’ll have so many other concerns, my poor boy, too many to keep his eyes always on his bastard sister. I’d give a dozen warships for her dowry, if I could go to my grave knowing her virtue is shielded by the strong arm of a powerful husband.”

“A prince?”

“No less. One of the great princes of Christendom, the best she can possibly have.”

 _And that will humiliate Scotland too_ , he thought. _I’ll teach them for refusing to marry Mary Stuart to my legitimate son. I’ll show them that my youngest bastard is worthy of a great prince, let alone my legitimate son._


	2. Chapter 2

“We only make peace with our enemies. That’s why it’s called ‘making peace’.” –Petyr Baelish, Game of Thrones

**January 1546**

Charles V visited the monastery for two reasons: the possibility of getting himself into it, and the certainty of getting Philip out of it.

“My son. You do not look good.”

 _Neither do you_ , Philip thought. His father looked exhausted. _One day I will look just as tired. That day may be very soon._

“I hope you will be a better king than a monk. I hope to be a better monk than I’ve been a king.”

“I’m not ready to leave, Father.” The monastery had been a safe haven for Philip for several reasons. It was quiet, it was holy, and he was free from having to make decisions. Everything was timed and organised; and routine freed him from the urge to lie in bed and wallow. He could express as much sorrow as he wanted, without courtiers flocking to try and cheer him up, or councillors fretting that he’d follow his father into the pit of despair.

“When you have a wife, you will have duties that you can’t perform on sacred ground.”

“I have a wife. That’s why I’m here.”

“A dead wife. God bless my niece, but she’s gone to a different journey. Yours is taking you back to a wedding bed. You are to marry Elizabeth, daughter of King Henry of England.”

“The daughter of _Anne Boleyn_?”

“The very same. It’s all very simple. We need an alliance with England, now more than ever. Have you forgotten the natural loyalties of the Atlantic?”

“Never.” As always, Philip’s voice was calm but firm.

“Tell me them.”

“England hates France, so she forms a pincer against France with Iberia. France hates England, and tries to form a likewise pincer against England with Scotland, who also hates England. France is now pleased to form a pincer against Iberia with the Moors of North Africa.” _So there we all are, piled on top of each other on the map._

“King Henry has his three children and critically, all three are now in the succession. First his son Edward, then my much-wronged cousin, the virtuous Mary, then Elizabeth. Never mind her mother, her place in the succession-“

“Third place.”

“She’s the only one you can marry! Mary, saints defend her, is thirty. She’s never had good health, and if she only gives you stillbirths and miscarriages you’ll be trapped in a childless union for the rest of her life. I don’t think I need to tell you why you can’t marry Edward.”

“I have given Spain an heir, though it cost me my wife, Carlos is healthy-“

“For now. I’m sorry, my son. But he is in his most vulnerable years, and if he suddenly passes the whole process of acquiring an heir must begin all over again.”

The thought of Carlos dying sent a cold feeling down Philip’s spine. He knew it was possible, but to hear his father speak it made it worse.

“The learned teach that the honour of a prince comes as much from virtue as from high birth. What will it do to our family’s reputation if we are bound by affinity to the most infamous concubine in living memory? And think of your aunt! They say she was poisoned by the mother of the girl you intend as my wife.”

“They _say_. Besides, she’s dead now. Let the dead bury the dead, Philip. Diplomacy is the art of forgetting even what your people have not forgiven.”

"The girl’s still a bastard. We can’t ask the Pope to legitimise her without insulting our cousin. Either Mary is legitimate, or Elizabeth. They can’t both be legitimate at the same time.”

“It’s not ideal, marrying you to a concubine’s daughter. But Mary has far more reason to resent her than you do, and yet I hear she loves the girl like a daughter. If she can live with her, you certainly can.”

“Men will call me a hypocrite if I am one flesh with a Lutheran, and yet pass judgement on her brothers in Christ!”

“They will call you politic.”

 _Not as a compliment_ , Philip thought.

“She may not even be a full Lutheran. Maybe she’s only Erasmian. Besides, her father hates Luther, always has and always will. I’m sure a young, impressionable girl can be coaxed out of heresy.”

“How old is she, again?”

“It’s no matter, you won’t marry her immediately. I’ll make sure you have your year’s mourning for Manuela, don’t worry about that. I suppose by the time she arrives in Spain, she’ll probably be about thirteen.”

“Thir- _No_. No, I am not going to make a child pregnant. How could I even get in the mood for such an act? I refuse even to _try_. Sixteen is the youngest I will consider. Even then, she might not be ready. It would be another five years at least, from now, before we could have any children.”

“I am not asking you to impregnate a child, what do you take me for? Besides, how old were you when you first went to bed with a woman? Even though I specifically told you not to?”

Philip stood up a little straighter. “That was different. I was precocious. Not everyone can be precocious; otherwise the word would lose all meaning.”

“Philip, I want to test your strategy. Tell me an argument in favour of this marriage.”

Philip quietly sighed. “The Channel.”

“What about the Channel?”

“You fear that once Prince Edward is king, his Protector will work with the French to hold access to the Netherlands through the Channel as hostage, meaning we won’t be able to get to the Netherlands by sea until we give them what they ask for. And with the heretics stirring in Germany, and the French being- well, _French_ \- the Channel’s access to our Dutch lands is more important now than it has ever been. But if I give my hand in marriage to his half-sister, Edward will promise to keep the Channel open for us.” _An English threat to block access to the Channel wouldn’t be half so potent if you hadn’t given away Milan to the French_ , he thought resentfully. _I told you to let the French have the Netherlands instead, rather than lose a connecting point with Germany, Naples and Sicily_. 

“That’s my son. King, Prince and Parliament have sworn, come what may, to keep the Channel open so long as Elizabeth is your wife. It’s in the treaty; I made quite sure of that. A good king, my boy, removes dangers to his realm, but a great king removes dangers before anyone else has spotted them. There’s also her dowry to consider. It’s _very_ good.”

“For a twelve year old bastard Lutheran, it had better be.”

“Her father’s clearly keen to marry her off quickly. Perhaps he doesn’t trust the English nobility. Nothing would surprise me! No territories come with it, but it’s been several generations since an English bride came with so much gold.”

“Gold plundered from the monasteries. I’ll wager most of it is made of melted-down crucifixes.”

“Well, where should such gold go? It’ll never go back to the monks, whatever happens to England’s faith. If anyone should have such gold, it’s the Most Catholic kings of Europe. It’s what the monks would have wanted, anyway. And such gold! With a dowry like that, you’d think her father was the Pope.”

“In her father’s opinion, he is.”

“Most importantly, she’s bringing it with her. I wouldn’t trust her father to pay it, otherwise. We have more expenses than the treasury can cope with, at the moment. Her dowry will help keep the wolves from the door until we can risk raising more taxes, or extract more gold from New Spain. And before you ask, _no_ , I will not marry either Mary or Elizabeth in your stead. This cup passes to you. Drink up.”

Philip pressed his lips into a line. _I’m going to have to agree to this_. “Do you think we can convert her to the true faith? Not simply outward show, I’m sure she’ll give us that, but inward faith? The _true_ faith, not simply Erasmianism?”

“She’s young. We’ll give her the best theologians for tutors. Who knows?” The king laughed. “If you ask her _very_ nicely, maybe she’ll even convert for love.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Was I not born in the realm? Were my parents born in any foreign country? Is not my kingdom here? Whom have I oppressed? Whom have I enriched to other's harm? What turmoil have I made in this commonwealth that I should be suspected to have no regard to the same?“ –Elizabeth I, 1566

**January 1546**

Having implored the king to let her be the one to do it, Queen Katherine broke the news to her stepdaughter after the queen’s ladies had listened to their daily sermon, and after the preacher had been dismissed.

“Your father has arranged a splendid match for you. He has laboured so diligently on your behalf, and you have been betrothed to Philip, the Holy Roman Emperor’s son and heir. You are the envy of every princess in Christendom, child. You will be married by proxy in England, and then you will travel to Spain before the end of the year. All has been signed and agreed to; no detail is left to trouble you. The King awaits only your gracious acceptance.”

The colour drained from Elizabeth’s face. She knelt at her stepmother’s feet and kissed her hand.

“I thank His Majesty for this great honour,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering. “There is nothing I wish for more, than to remain his loving and obedient daughter. As Supreme Head of the Church of England, there is no one in whom I place more trust than him, in choosing for me a fitting husband. I will marry his choice-” she swallowed. “Joyfully.”

“Sweet daughter.” The queen lifted Elizabeth to her feet. “Leave us.” Elizabeth’s women filed out.

“Darling girl,” Katherine embraced Elizabeth, hugging her closer when she felt Elizabeth tremble. “I have been married three times now, and each time I married I had to make my home anew in a completely different place, and each time I thought “I can’t do it, I miss my old home too much” but I found that with God’s help, it could be done.”

“Yes, Mother. I did not think everything would be agreed to so quickly.”

“Neither did I. There was some talk of a betrothal with the Earl of Arran’s son, but your father is too angry with the Scots for refusing his terms. Your father would rather see you as a queen than as a countess, especially a countess with a father-in-law who can’t be Regent of Scotland forever. And the difference in age between you and the prince is not much greater than that between you and the earl’s son.”

“Will I have to submit to the Bishop of Rome?”

“I’m afraid that is one of the conditions. Your father understands the demands of duty, and he has already forgiven you for it. He trusts that you can balance the natural obedience a daughter owes a father with the obedience a wife owes her husband.”

“I am honoured by his faith in me.”

Katherine looked at Elizabeth, knowing with painful familiarity what it meant to be a religious reformer married to a traditionalist.

“Will I have to be a Nicodemite?”

Katherine winced. “Nicodemus was not a prince, with a prince’s cares. You’re not the first bride to be torn between faith, family and state, and you won’t be the last. God will understand that you swore in His sight to obey your husband, and your duty to follow the laws and customs of his father, your sovereign. After all, not all of the early Christians martyred themselves, and we must give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. If Caesar wants your presence at Mass, you will be present, even if your heart is not.”

In truth, Elizabeth had expected something like this to happen. Her father had commissioned a portrait to be painted of her, and though she had hoped it was her father’s wish to commemorate his beloved daughter, she had suspected it was really about sending her image to potential bridegrooms. She had wondered what would happen if she married a papist. After all, many English lords were papists, and even more foreign princes were. But the day had come, and it was decided. And Paris to London was one thing, but Madrid to London was quite another.

“Your sister will teach you Spanish. Your husband will be greatly pleased that you have dedicated the time and effort, and it will help you as queen, which God willing, you will one day be.”

“Mother, I would beg a favour of my generous father. Might I see a portrait of my betrothed?” She added quickly, “It would help me to pray for him, if I knew what he looked like.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philip’s portrait in this chapter is a combination of his 1550 and 1554 Titian portraits, but obviously younger by a bunch of years. Elizabeth’s portrait, naturlich, is her iconique red 1546 portrait.

And love is a stranger, who’ll beckon you on

Don’t think of the danger, or the stranger is gone- You Only Live Twice, Nancy Sinatra

**April 1546**

The envoy who brought the picture was watching him closely, like frightened prey watching circling predators.

“Her dress is perfect,” Philip’s companion remarked- a safe compliment to make. She was in crimson, which he approved of.

“It always is! She is never less than fresh and immaculate.”

 _Oh, that’s the best news I’ve heard so far_. At least his wife would hate dirt as much as he did. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to look like, but he was surprised. _She’s definitely an improvement on her father when it comes to appearance_.

She had a fine royal nose, and eyes that his own kept returning to. Her eyes had a timeless quality that he couldn't quite explain, an old wisdom he didn't entirely trust. He felt that he was the observed as much as the observer. Her frank gaze was slightly startling in one so young, her face gave nothing away. Nevertheless, Castilians placed great value on dignity and composure, and this girl appeared to carry herself with more of both than many trueborn princesses, in Philip’s opinion.

“You may tell her that she is as dignified as she is beautiful.” There, that was a compliment without being a validation.

“The lady is accomplished as well,” the envoy added, seeming to forget that he didn’t need to sell Elizabeth’s qualities; the match was already signed and sealed. “Her New Year’s gift to her father was an impeccable edition of her stepmother’s treatise. She translated the work from English into Latin, then French, then Italian, she copied it out with exquisite italic penmanship, and she embroidered the cover! That proves her versatility- her possession of several very different skills.”

“She’s a scholar.” A slip of paper marked a page in her book which she had clearly passed, from the way she held it. If the book were only for show, and unread, she would not have thought to put that in.

“Like her stepmother, yes, a scholar both natural and diligent- an example of learning to all the ladies of England.”

 _That’s a big hint what she wants for her wedding present,_ Philip thought.

“Is she interested in alchemy?” he blurted out.

“Alchemy?” The envoy was stunned. “Um…er…no, Your Highness, English ladies tend not to be taught alchemy, it is not considered a womanly subject. Alchemy… her education was mostly languages and the ancient authors, though I’m sure she’s read Galen…forgive me, Highness, I was not aware it was the custom in Spain, for brides to be well-versed in alchemy…is knowledge of alchemy something you consider essential, in a wife?”

“Essential?” Philip pretended to think it over, as the envoy started to panic. _Why is this little man so jumpy? Must be the consequence of finding brides for King Henry_. “No. Not really. I am interested in alchemy. I was merely curious whether she happened to be interested as well.”

The envoy practically fainted with relief. “Oh, well, her education has shown her to be blessed with great intelligence. I’m certain she will prove an obedient pupil of any field of knowledge Your Highness wishes her to learn…or that you wish to teach her yourself.”

Philip raised his eyebrows at the book open on the lectern behind her. No words were written on it, but it could only be the Bible.

“What are her religious opinions?”

“She is a devout Christian lady, and her knowledge of Scripture is both deep and broad.”

 _That’s not what I asked_. “What of her knowledge of Spanish? Is that deep or shallow?”

“She is learning the language as we speak, Your Highness- aided naturally by her _immense_ knowledge of Latin - learning with the speed of Mercury.”

“You may thank the English king for his daughter’s portrait.” That served as the envoy’s dismissal. The portrait he had sent in exchange was not painted when he knew of the plan to marry him to Elizabeth, which was probably for the best.

* * *

He was in black, which she approved of.

She stared in surprise at his face, and smothered a giggle.

“He’s quite a stern gentleman,” She pointed at his picture, pulling a face to mirror his own. “I shall certainly have to behave myself.”

“He is the most courteous and gracious of princes.”

(Like his English counterpart, the Spanish envoy had forgotten that he didn’t need to sell Philip.)

 _Yes, but that’s only in public_ Elizabeth thought. _Even if it’s not an exaggeration, it tells me nothing of what he’s like behind closed doors. Still, even if he is controlling when eyes are averted, at least courtesy will stop him from shaming me in public. Small comfort; but still comfort. He’s young and robust. If he has a spiteful nature, he could torment me for decades._

His hair was not as dark as she had been hoping for, but his face was more appealing the more she looked at it. He had very strong features, but given he was a Hapsburg that was only to be expected, and they rather suited him. _He’s definitely an improvement on his father when it comes to appearance_. _He has plumper lips than I do_. That thought reminded her that her portrait was on its way to him. _No portrait could convey my nature better. If he doesn’t like it, that’s a bad omen._ She noticed he had good legs; too, especially as white was not a slimming colour. His hands looked warm and strong. She imagined them on her waist.

“What are his religious opinions?”

“His Holiness has few sons dearer to his heart.”

 _God will protect me. I must not doubt His justice._ But then she remembered what marriage had done to her mother. _She was not a king’s daughter_ she reassured herself. _Neither was Katherine Howard_. _Father would never let any harm come to me._

She wouldn’t have minded an arranged marriage half so much, if it didn’t make her so dependent on her husband. A list of her proposed entourage had been sent to Charles V. It had been returned with half the names crossed out: every Protestant and every suspected Protestant, which meant almost all of the people Elizabeth wanted to bring. Kat Ashley- no. Robert Dudley- no. Blanche Parry- no. Thomas Parry- no. Catherine Knollys- no. Elizabeth Fitzgerald, Lady Browne- acceptable, but her husband was not willing for her to leave England. The Catholic ladies preferred the company of her sister.

“He looks a capable horseman.”

“He is nimble in both body and mind.”

 _Maybe he won’t want to lie with me_ , she thought. _He has a son, after all_. _But he’s young. They say young men are more eager than old men, when it comes to a lady’s touch._ Perhaps those warm strong hands were not so inviting after all…

She should have asked more questions, she knew that, but suddenly she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the portrait. She dismissed the envoy with just enough thanks to be gracious, and left the room to find her tutor.

“How can I love and honour and obey a man whose values I don’t share?” she said without introduction. “Will I have to dissemble for the rest of my life?”

“Many women in the earliest days of our faith had similar marriages, and they saved their husbands’ souls with their prayers.”

“You are quite right, my teacher. However, the pagans were strangers to the Christian message. They can be excused, for they did not know what they were doing. This is an educated prince, but he’d rather obey the Bishop of Rome and choose superstitions over the purity of the ancient faith.”

“Perhaps God will make another Esther of you, and you will save God’s chosen.”

Elizabeth did not say so out loud, but she thought it unlikely. If The Colloquy of Ratisbon had been successful, perhaps she would have had less to fear. The Most Catholic monarchs did not sound like people open to conversion. The only concessions to her faith they had permitted was her father’s insistence that she have a copy of his Great Bible with her, and his insistence that she continue to support the royal supremacy, while accepting the Pope as Head of the Church of Spain. Even then, those concessions were about her father’s contentment, not her own, and she was not to translate her Great Bible into Spanish or share with it anyone, except her ladies- who were Catholic anyway, and therefore unlikely to want it.

 _What if he’s unhinged?_ The thought came to her suddenly. They called his grandmother Juana the Mad. Henry VI of England was of less than sound mind, and his grandfather had fits of panic, believing himself to be made of glass. Then again, she reassured herself once the brief terror passed, Juana went mad after she lost her husband, so the story went. Maybe it was extreme melancholy sparked by grief. That frightened her less than the thought of a frenzied maniac, although the thought of a husband consumed by despair was still a galling one. If she came to love him, watching him be overwhelmed by melancholic humours would only be more agonising. She prayed that if he ever succumbed to excruciating despair, it would be when she was a fully mature woman, better able to protect herself- from him, or from her own heartbreak.

“What if he is cruel to me?” she asked Robin the next day, the two falling behind the royal procession after Mass to talk.

“Send the word, and I will sail south immediately and skewer him right through his black Spanish heart.”

“You will?”

“I will swim if I have to. Whatever I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. You know I’d do the same if it were you.”

“Oh, I’d be a far superior wife for the Prince of Spain.”

Elizabeth burst into fits of giggles. “Robin, you are cheeky! I will miss you terribly.”

“But you will come back to England? This can’t be goodbye forever?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever come back. Maybe I could come back if he died, but the Spanish want the Channel. If I were widowed, Father would just marry me off to another Hapsburg. Some fat old duke who sleeps in his armour.”

“Couldn’t you visit?”

“Maybe if we visited the Netherlands we could visit Kent. But we couldn’t stay for long, and we might not go to the Netherlands very often.”

“At least if you married the Scottish one I could ride north and see you.”

“Even then, we’d never have any time to ourselves. Princes don’t let their wives be alone with men for the length of a psalm. And one chaperone wouldn’t be enough; we’d have to have all of my ladies watching us.”

“We wouldn’t do anything wrong! Just play cards, read, dance, go hunting.”

“It wouldn’t matter what we did, what would matter would be people talking about us.”

“A handsome man like me..”

She hit him on the arm. It was easier to pretend to be exasperated than to spiral into worry. It was not only Philip she would have to woo, Spain and its court had no reason to think highly of her. Their own ambassador had said what happened to her mother was God’s justice. _Can I even win their hearts?_ Her mother had done everything she could to win the people’s love, but they were implacable in their outrage. Would the shadow of Catherine of Aragon’s suffering loom darker in Spain? The ancients said history was cyclical. A Spanish princess sailed to England to marry an English prince, and now an English princess would sail to Spain to marry a Spanish prince. She was that English prince's niece, and Philip was the Spanish princess' great-nephew. The precedent looked ominous. _She wasn't my father's true wife, though. He had to set her aside, it was God's will, the Pope- the Bishop of Rome- had no right to overrule scripture. My own godfather said so. I am no bastard, not truly. My mother was not a whore. Maybe there's a curse. Maybe she cursed me for replacing her daughter, when I was a baby. Maybe she cursed my mother and all my mother's family and that's why disaster came upon all of us._

She felt her confidence crumbling the more she thought about it. She lay awake for hours until she finally pulled herself out of bed and woke Kat Ashley.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered. “I’ve tried praying, but I’m frightened. I’m worried about my marriage. I wouldn’t wake you, only I don’t know what to do.”

Kat sat up. The tears were welling up in her eyes. “You are the most precious thing in my life, child. You know that. Every girl in England will be praying for your happiness.”

“What do you advise?”

“Take each day one at a time. Don’t fight your worries all at once, or they’ll overwhelm you. Try not to look for omens, or you'll see them in the woodwork. Think of one problem at a time, and solve it before you fret over any other problem. Don’t worry about childbirth until you’re pregnant, don’t worry about pregnancy until you’re one flesh, don’t worry about consummation-“, Kat was interrupted by a loud snore from her sleeping husband. She smiled. “Don’t worry about your husband snoring until you’ve consummated the marriage, don’t worry about the wedding night until you’re familiar with Spain, and don’t worry about Spain until you’ve safely arrived on her shore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Elizabeth IRL did have an interest in alchemy as well as astrology, but I'm assuming here that she picked them up later in life, maybe the 1550s. She was probably interested in astrology by 1558 given she ordered Dr Dee to pick the coronation date according to when the stars were best aligned.  
> 2020 made me a lot more superstitious so maybe the stress of the 1550s got her more into the habit of magical thinking, I don't know.


	5. Chapter 5

“I need not to use many words, for my deeds do try me.”- Elizabeth I, 1566

**Summer 1546**

“What’s the weather like in England? Is it as cold and wet as they say?”

“Worse, Highness.”

“And Spain is hot and dry.” He thought of Elizabeth’s pallor in her portrait. _That will be a shock to the humours._ “I must employ some fanners to make sure she does not get too hot. There must always be canopy bearers too, to shield her from the sun.” It would not do for his bride to endure the voyage only to instantly die of heatstroke the moment she put a foot on Spanish soil. “I shall arrange it this morning.”

“Your Highness, it is not urgent, someone less important than yourself should organise that, it is too trivial for you to-“

“No no, the sooner I do it, the sooner it is done.”

* * *

 _Ser, to be. Soy, eres, es, somos, sois, son._ It helped that the Spanish imperfect tense was very close to the Latin. Mary coached her, but could offer little insight on the character of Philip and Charles. She assured Elizabeth that the Hapsburgs were an honourable family, but Elizabeth did not put too much trust in her word. _Of course she’d praise them. They’re her relatives._ Elizabeth saw the sadness on Mary’s face. _Maybe she should marry Philip instead. If she could live in her mother’s homeland, with her mother’s family, speaking her mother’s language and never having to answer to our father again, maybe she’d be happy. She’d find it harder to marry a reformer than I would find it to marry a papist. Maybe she even wants a husband._

Her fast task was to consult her books for references to Spain that might give her some clue of her destination. She always felt braver after a session of knowledge-gathering.

According to the authors, some of the Spanish descended from the Suebi, who conquered parts of the Northern Spain, while the Vandals invaded the south. The Suebi sounded familiar, and it took her a few moments to remember that Tacitus claimed they came from Germany. Originally worshippers of Isis, they were an ancient people but not a single nation, and not vain in appearance. They used to perform human sacrifices, but Elizabeth trusted that they’d given up that hobby. It took the Romans almost two hundred years to conquer them, but they ruled and turned the locals into themselves. The end of antiquity gave Spain much of its laws and languages, which gave Elizabeth comfort that Spain would not seem completely unfamiliar. The Romans had to irrigate the land to get grain from it, but Hispania supplied them with wool, gold, olive oil, and wine. Hadrian, Trajan and Seneca were born there, noble pagans all. Spain became Christian long before England did. _A pity they did not hold to the ancient faith, but were led astray into the medieval errors of the papacy_.

Mary very thoughtfully lent her copy of Vives’ _De institutione feminae christianae_ , which had been commissioned by Catherine of Aragon in order to instruct Mary on a woman’s place- or at least, a woman’s place in the eyes of one Spanish humanist.

"An unmarried young woman should rarely appear in public.” Not a good start. “. . . who can have respect for a man who he sees is ruled by a woman?" Even worse. She had hoped that as the wife of the king of Spain, she would have more influence than she would as the wife of an English duke or a Scottish earl, but perhaps it would have to be influence rather than power. _I could still be a patron of scholars_. 

The book described how a married woman should behave. Loyal, dedicated, obedient to her husband, modestly dressed, covering her face in public, no man should enter her house without her husband's permission. A wife's obedience and loyalty made her honourable, a husband's honour meant his ability to control his wife and ensure she remained virtuous. _A queen must surely have more freedom than that_. She remembered her father’s wives, and slammed the book shut.

The book had a sequel, Vives's text for husbands, _De los deberes del marido_ , which Elizabeth read as well, as practice for her Spanish as much as an indication of Philip’s expectations. The book was half the length of the wives’ book and was more about how to pick and govern a good wife than how a husband should behave for her sake.

She thought then not of herself, but of any daughters she might have. _Will I have to see my daughters be dominated and sold in marriage by their father, as I was by mine, and have no power to stop him?_ She dried the tears off the cover, before she returned the book to her sister.

* * *

Her heart beat faster as the royal seamstresses measured her for her wedding dress. It suddenly felt much more real, and the pleasure of finding out about a new country was lost with the reminder that she was not going for pleasure, but to marry. She had ordered a new travelling dress as well, to be made up as close to the Spanish style as possible. She wanted to look like a Spanish lady when she landed at Corunna, not like a foreign invader.

“Are English girls really so fearsome, that we’ll look like invaders?” One of her ladies giggled, but Elizabeth ignored her. _She is not the daughter of Anne Boleyn. She has the luxury of living without strategy._ When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Spain, do as the Spanish do.

 _“_ Very slender,” the seamstress remarked as she measured Elizabeth’s waist. Her words were a compliment, but Elizabeth could hear the concern in her voice. Kat Ashley had reassured her that she still had plenty of time to grow, but the physician who examined beneath her petticoats on behalf of the House of Hapsburg was very firm that she should not do a wife’s duty for at least three years, monthly bleeding or no monthly bleeding. (“Although I would hope I wouldn’t have to tell a gentleman that” he whispered under his breath.) Other than that, the report was optimistic. The physician’s apprentice made a dirty pun on the English channel, so the physician cuffed him around the head.

(He was a cheerful fellow otherwise, and very kind and gentle, so the examination was not as bad as she feared it would be.)

The proxy wedding was held at Westminster Abbey, so that the King could attend. It was a restrained affair, by royal standards.

“If the Spanish think they can feast at my expense after the king’s ransom that was her dowry, they are mistaken,” the King grumbled to his council. No one dared mention that the reason the dowry was so large was because he’d made Elizabeth a bastard and Philip was the son of the Holy Roman Emperor, so the Spanish had not been unreasonable.

The Duke of Alba served as proxy. Something about him struck fear into Elizabeth’s heart. He had a long, gaunt face; and there was no laughter in his eyes. She followed the ritual perfectly, but the Archbishop had to quietly ask her to speak a little louder, when it was time for the vows. The vows were made in Latin and then in English, so that Alba knew at what points to say “Yes” in his deep heavy voice. Her hand trembled as the ring was placed on her finger, and she froze when Alba bestowed the wedding kiss upon her.

 _He’s just a proxy_ , she told herself. _Proxies bear little resemblance to the real groom. When I am a woman, I won’t be at all afraid of him_.

When it was time for the bedding ceremony, Alba entered her bedchamber in his nightshirt and velvet gown, surrounded by courtiers and even the king’s Fool. Elizabeth sat up straight against the pillows, wrapped in a black velvet nightgown over her linen shift. A hush fell over the crowded room as the Archbishop, Elizabeth’s godfather, blessed the bed and its occupant. Elizabeth stared at the canopy and Alba stared at the floor as the covers were pulled back. Alba gingerly lifted his bare leg and touched Elizabeth’s shin with it. She could feel the prickly hairs on his calf and cringed. The wedding party cheered this symbolic consummation and all left to celebrate the wedding. Alba nodded and left without a word. Elizabeth sat in the darkness, and did not sleep.

* * *

The next day, her father summoned her to his presence chamber and sent everyone else out.

“Come closer, daughter. My eyes want to make the most of the last time I shall ever see you.”

“Am I to die?” She blurted out.

“No, child, I am. No-one can say it, but I won’t live to be a grandfather. That is why I want to speak to you now.” He engulfed her hands in his own. “Of all of my children, you were the one who surprised me the most. You have much of my intelligence. God made intelligent women as his instruments to right the world, but remember that God made intelligent women so that they would know true humility when they accepted their husband’s will.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do not forget, however, that accepting a husband’s will does not mean you cannot petition him. The Hapsburgs have no quarrel with Mary, she’s one of them, but you must keep the peace between your brother and your husband. Many years ago, my sister was married to the King of Scots to make an alliance, but that didn’t stop war, and our victory left the arrogant fool dead on the battlefield. You must succeed where she failed. My other sister remarried without my permission. You are not to do that, understand? If you’re widowed and childless, you come back to England so your brother’s council can choose your next husband.” The king frowned. “Come to think of it, don’t imitate any of your aunts. Your mother’s sister was neither chaste nor obedient, and your uncle’s wife was an ingrate and a traitor. There were so many traitors, all of them now rotting in Hell.”

She could tell he was starting to brood. “I will not cease to be a daughter, now that I am a wife.” _I am a wife. Not I will be. The marriage is done. Nothing can stop it now._

“Whatever you do, you must help your brother. Do not let distance weaken your loyalty to him.”

“I swear, nothing could.”

“You must remember my work, and honour my legacy. I sacrificed much for it, and the independence of England’s Church is as much my child as any of you. It will live on after all three of you are in Heaven. You and your sister were sent by God to teach me forgiveness against those who wronged me, and not to punish children for the sins of their mothers. Honour your husband, honour the Bishop of Rome as he does, but do not reject your brother’s Headship of England’s Church. Do not abandon him. Let England be the shining exception to the grovelling papists and the wretched Germans.”

 _If I were only a boy, everything would be different_ , Elizabeth had often thought. _I would be heir to the throne. I wouldn’t be under a husband’s command. Maybe my mother would be alive now, and I would kiss her hand, and see her smile when she blessed me. But I was a girl, and that spoiled everything._

“I would ask for your blessing, Father.”

“You have it freely, as my loving daughter.”

Elizabeth bowed her head, and he laid a large hand upon it. He blessed her as she blinked away her tears, and then he wished her well, and dismissed her from the room. He needed to speak to his councillors.

* * *

Queen Katherine had only just survived an attempt to arrest her for heresy, so she dared not leave the king’s side to accompany Elizabeth to Southampton, and nor did Cranmer. Edward begged to be allowed on the trip, and Henry granted his wish. Mary came too, as did Kat, Robin, Thomas Parry, Blanche, Grindal, and all the Protestant ladies who were crossed off of the list. Some rather cold looks were sent in the direction of the ladies considered Catholic enough to sail.

Edward wept to say goodbye to his sister and embraced her a second time after she let go. Mary promised to pray for her, and asked Elizabeth to give her love to her good cousins. Kat wept copious tears and blessed her endlessly, while Parry ran around in circles checking that everything had been packed. Blanche kept coming up with more advice.

“You have any advice for me?” she asked Robin.

“Don’t fight any sea serpents.”

“Don’t fight any sea serpents _and lose_ ,” she corrected him. They laughed. “Godspeed, princess.”

Elizabeth was about to correct him, but then she remembered that she was in fact a princess again. No one would call her Lady Elizabeth for the rest of her life. From now on, she would always be Your Highness.

She stared at the harbour as the ship slowly cast off, and Robin waved his cap until she was a speck in the distance.


	6. Chapter 6

“I thank God I am indeed endowed with such qualities that if I were turned out of the realm in my petticoat I were able to live in any place in Christendom” –Elizabeth I, 1566

**Autumn 1546**

They were halfway to Spain when the storm began.

Thunder rumbled and the heavens went black. One blast of wind knocked her hood back, the second took it off completely. The red velvet fell into the ocean like a drop of blood and then vanished.

“Madam, your hood-“

She turned. A wave crashed over the rail and soaked her to the skin. _And I thought things couldn’t get worse_. Elizabeth laughed hysterically. “You want me to jump in and get it back? You first!”

“Madam, you must come below.”

“I will not.” _This is a test from the Lord_. The deck pitched and rolled, sending her staggering to the mast. She wrapped her arms around it. It shielded her from the wind, but the rain chilled her face until it was as cold as a death mask. Sometimes a crackling sail would send a fresh shower of rain down her back. Her clothes were heavy with water, but the wind could still lift and shake them, taking away the precious heat trapped in the wool. And to think she had thought snow was cold. She wondered where all her blood had gone, there was certainly none in her hands and feet. They could chop her fingers off as cleanly as slicing mincemeat.

“You could be washed overboard!”

“I can’t swim, so that won’t be a problem for long.” Elizabeth tried to remember a smell that wasn’t salt.

“Princess, the storm-“

“ _I am the storm!”_

“If you are lost, the prince-“

“Will have to marry someone else.” Her teeth were chattering. She had never openly defied someone before, it was intoxicating. It filled her with something as close to heat as she could imagine at that moment. “If God wills, I will be a queen under the seas, He is the only giver of crowns.”

It seemed as if the storm had always raged, but eventually he recited every curse he knew and called another to help him peel Elizabeth off the mast and steer her inside, her arms around their shoulders, their feet hammering against the deck to hold on and drag her trembling legs.

All but one of her ladies was seasick, and the stink of it was enough to make Elizabeth miss the freezing rain. She shooed them away as they flocked to her, the smell as overpowering as the storm itself. Her dress was so waterlogged the laces had swollen and wouldn’t come undone. One maid suggested cutting the laces.

“Are you mad?” An older gentlewoman shouted. “With the ship rolling, your hand would slip and stab her!”

“Enough!” Elizabeth’s voice crested the next roll of thunder. “One of you, blunt a needle. Work it through the knot, and then pull it to the side, that should loosen them enough. Another, wring out the water in my dress and hair, that’ll help warm me up. The rest of you, be quiet if you can’t be calm. God’s presence is as strong here as anywhere on land. We are not going to die. Not now, at least.”

The warmth of the cabin made her cold fingers burn, but being dry had never felt so delightful. She even smiled as a maid towelled her hair dry just as Kat Ashley used to do. There was no possibility of sleeping or reading with the deck rocking as if a giant were hopping on it, one foot to another, so there were only her thoughts to pass the time. She chose to think of her grandfather, Henry VII. His voyage was much shorter but no less daunting. _He survived and thrived_ she thought. _For a time at least._ She drew strength from thinking of him, though she never knew him. _God grant me one part of the cunning and the courage He bestowed on him._

None of the ladies decided on it, but they went to sleep as one the moment the storm stopped. _I am walking into a lion’s den_ Elizabeth thought, drifting off. _But I am a lion’s cub._

* * *

The ships were not as magnificent at Corunna as they had been at Southampton, but Elizabeth, her dowry and entourage were all intact, if dishevelled. The dowry had been evenly distributed across the fleet, so that one ship’s loss would not be intolerable. French ships had been spotted in the distance, but if the storm hadn’t been enough to chase them off, the size of the fleet suggested there were almost certainly cannons within reach. 

When Elizabeth stepped onto the dock, her serving man laid his cloak on the floor. She knelt upon it, kissed the palm of her gloved right hand, and pressed it to the floor, as her grandfather had kissed the sand when he landed. She thanked God for their safe arrival in English and then repeated the prayer in Latin for the benefit of the listening Spanish. The party who had come to greet her looked at her curiously, heads peering over shoulders and around the backs of those in front. “She has presence,” one remarked.

 _The first thing I must do is give alms_ , she thought. _The Spanish know me only as the daughter of Anne Boleyn. They must see a different lady than the one their imaginations have created._

A large crowd straddled the road. The whole town had turned out to catch a glimpse of the girl they had called bastard whom they must now call Princess, and kiss where they would previously have spat. _Regardless of their reaction, I must be every inch a princess._ She held her head high, and rode gracefully, nodding at the silent staring townsmen.

“God save you, Princess!” Someone in the crowd shouted, just to see what would happen.

“God save you all, good people!” she replied in perfect Spanish, which finally earned her some muted cheers and doffed caps.

“And God save the prince!” That earned the largest cheer of all, and removed the rest of the caps. No matter, she reflected _. Cheering the prince in my presence is not a long way from cheering me_. _Word will spread that I was cheered by the people, and that will encourage still more to cheer me, because people like to react the way they perceive everyone else is reacting._

She visited the nearest shrine next, and lit candles there. Not too hard a compromise to make, she had always liked candles. She prayed for some time and ignored the whispers and stares of the worshippers. They were more curious than hostile, especially given they were all on sacred ground. The sight of her, small and pretty and peacefully praying, seemed to please them. She accepted a blessing from the priest, and thanked him for his diligence in serving his flock, once she sensed their conversation was being listened to. The crowd never could resist the sight of a beautiful royal maiden.

* * *

She rested some days at Corunna, to refresh herself after her travels and wash the salt out of her hair. Unlike her glum ladies, the storm had put her in a good mood. _If I survived that, I can survive a mortal man_. The sea air gave her deep sleep, and she alternated between praying, reading and snacking on candied fruit, a surprise gift sent by Philip’s sister Maria. The ambassador visited her the day after her arrival, and through him she wrote a letter to the king immediately, to let him know she (and her dowry) arrived safe and well. She dared not send a separate letter to Robin, so she sent her good wishes to all members of the noblest families at court, the Greys, the Brandons, the Seymours and the Dudleys (she did not think it politic to mention the recently disgraced Howards). She prayed that her kind father would spread the good news of her safe arrival to her household ‘since they have such care for me’.

She visited Santiago de Compostela on her way to Madrid. A shrine was a good place to be seen, not just because its beauty and holiness reflected onto her, but because shrines (particularly one as famous as Santiago de Compostela) were brimming with travellers, who could travel home many miles, bringing with them pilgrim badges and news of the English princess they had seen. The journey could not last forever, but Elizabeth made herself think only of the flowers and the sky and the new sights, the whitewashed walls, the iron grills, the little puffs of dust woken by the feet of mules, the strange accents shouted across the streets. Philip kept slipping into her thoughts, but she pushed each thought aside, in favour of anything else. It was not until the night she arrived at Madrid that she realised her husband’s quarters were just ten minutes’ walk away, and he was probably in them, living, breathing, existing. He was a solid, real thing, and the world said she belonged to him now, and England was the other side of a storm. She had half a mind to get it over with, to walk down there herself and knock on his door. The Spanish had warned her that that was not the custom, and Philip would be greatly scandalised. She tried to put the case that there could be no scandal, they had been married by proxy, but she chose caution and a sleepless night instead.

* * *

They were to be formally introduced the next day, in the gift-giving ceremony that the English insisted must happen before Elizabeth was converted and the wedding conducted, and must also happen outside, in a courtyard, for reasons they wouldn’t specify.

Philip agonised over what to wear, bringing out the full length mirror, changing clothes completely at least twice. He had a particular pair of new sleeves that were exquisitely embroidered, but they clashed with his most flattering doublet, and his most slimming stockings didn’t quite go with the hose he wanted them to go with. He chose a modest codpiece. He wanted to look dashing, but not aggressively sexual, given his bride’s young age. He changed hats and angled them until he was in danger of messing up his hair. Elizabeth’s ladies dressed her in blue silk, the traditional colour of English brides, edged with bands of black velvet.

The gift giving took place as early in the morning as possible, before the sunshine could get too hot. Nevertheless, the canopy bearers shaded Elizabeth, and when the fanners caught sight of Philip, they fanned more vigorously to prove they were worth the money, until Elizabeth turned and told them they must stop, lest they waft her out to sea.

Philip was shorter than she expected, but otherwise as sombre as in his portrait. He seemed to shift between a youth and a man, with a shift of the light or a change in his face or posture; and she realised that her imagination had sculpted someone much older and angrier than the picture she had seen.

He rose and bowed to her with the grace of a dancer, doffing his cap. The early sunlight picked up threads of gold in his hair, which made it look soft. He stood up straight again, and was looking directly into her eyes, so she dared not snatch a peek at his legs, to see if they were as good as in his portrait.

Elizabeth began her prepared speech. She spoke slower than she could have, so that she could flaunt her perfect pronunciation.

“We have all received a generous welcome from your noble father’s loyal subjects. I thank your sister, in particular, for her sweet gift. My own sister gives you all the sweet gift of her prayers, remembering always her dearest cousins. The hardship of our voyage is now just a memory. The winds were strong, and would not be calmed by the will of any man, but our hearts were stronger, and calmed by faith. We were not afraid, for as the Bible teaches us, the desert must be crossed before the Promised Land can be reached, and I am now graced with the presence of my honourable husband’s person.”

“Welcome, my wife. We all hope that Spain may make a golden setting for England’s fairest ruby.”

Elizabeth blinked as if to say: “Is that it?” He nodded. That was it. Time for the gifts.

To Elizabeth’s great relief, it was Queen Katherine who chose and paid for her wedding gift to Philip. (“My parting gift to you, darling, so that you might make a good first impression upon your husband. A good first impression can be vital.”) Elizabeth had silently feared King Henry might cause offence by trying to save money by gifting a looted crucifix. Yes, the treasure of the monasteries paid for her dowry, but it wouldn’t do to rub the prince’s face in it. She had been deeply moved that her stepmother had instead sacrificed her shoe budget to help her. The warhorse was magnificent, strong and scrubbed white despite the grime of sea travel. It had been a nightmare to look after him on the journey south. His stall, food , water and hygiene requirements took up most of a ship, and despite his trained courage, the storm upset him. (Fortunately it was a different ship to Elizabeth’s.) It would be safer for everyone’s dignity, including the horse’s, for his presentation to be made outside.

Her eyes widened as Philip picked up a cane to help him walk to the horse. He stroked the horse’s nose and said something to him that she couldn’t hear.

Elizabeth had a sinking feeling as Philip smiled at her, realising that there were plenty of ribald puns to be made about ‘mounts’ and ‘riding’. But Philip simply thanked her for the rich gift (though she guessed he’d figured out that it was chosen by someone other than her). He announced to the listening courtiers that his bride would choose the name of his new steed. Elizabeth picked Notus, after the god of the south wind and the bringer of summer storms. Philip replied that if the heathen heard that he rode upon the south wind; that would certainly strike fear into their hearts, and help him to rout them. He noticed that she was looking at his cane.

“It’s only for a little while longer. I hurt my ankles during weapons drill.”

He actually hurt his ankles re-enacting a scene from _Amadis of Gaul_ with his friends on an island near Guadalajara, but she didn’t need to know that.

“My grandmother regrets that she is not well enough to attend, but this is her gift to you.”

Elizabeth’s ladies gasped at the bolts of silks and satins (in colours that would not clash with red hair) plush velvet, brocade, cloth of gold, silver tissue. Many of the fabrics, she knew, would not be touched by scissors until her husband became king. _Which is practical too, as I am still growing._ There was gossamer-fine Spanish lace, too, Elizabeth noticed. _The kind of lace great ladies’ shifts are hemmed with_. She wondered what to make of that. _Perhaps that’s a gift as much to Philip as to me. How does the sister of Catherine of Aragon feel, that I will be the mother of her great-grandchildren?_ Of course, Elizabeth did not speak her mind. She gave her warmest smile, and said how glad she was that the prince’s grandmother took the time to remember her, and select so many luscious fabrics. (Was it Juana or her lady who really chose these fabrics? Whoever it was, they had good taste.)

Gifts from his sisters were next, an ivory rosary with a golden crucifix from Maria and a madonna and child from Juana.

“Exquisitely beautiful, I thank them with all my heart,” Elizabeth announced. The court applauded, but Philip read between the lines. She called them beautiful, not holy. The golden calf no doubt had some aesthetic value.

Elizabeth herself had brought fine hat brooches as gifts for his sisters, identical in value so as not to favour one sister over the other. _If Philip loves them, and they love me, then if Philip does not love me, they can intercede with him on my behalf_. For Philip’s grandmother she gifted billiments that she had embroidered with gold thread herself.

“Finally, a gift to my infant stepson.” Her servants opened for Philip a small chest filled with embroidered caps in a range of sizes. Philip smiled at Elizabeth, the same smile as before, but Elizabeth thought there was a warmth in it the earlier smile lacked.

“And a gift from my son to his new mother.” A serving man handed Elizabeth a tiny casket and requested she open it. Inside was a lock of golden hair tied with a velvet ribbon.

“The best my son can grow,” Philip declared. The court politely laughed. “And now my gift.” At Philip’s order the chests were brought forth and opened to reveal the works of the Church Fathers, massive tomes bound in leather and inlaid with gold or silver. Philip saw Elizabeth take a half-step towards them, as if to read them then and there. He smiled.

The trumpets sounded, which was their cue to join hands and process to the church. Both of them looked straight ahead, but when she saw the bishop waiting there to marry them, Elizabeth cracked and took a peek out of the corner of her eye. His face was completely blank, holding her hand indifferently. There was no anger in his face, or joy, or tiredness, or disgust, or sorrow. Nothing seemed to be getting on his nerves, if he even had any nerves. Elizabeth thought his expression might be boredom, but bored people look around for something interesting, and he seemed perfectly content with looking straight ahead, blinking only occasionally.

She forgot him as the bishop began the ceremony to officially convert her to Catholicism, distracted by thoughts of fathers heavenly and earthly. She repeated the words he asked _. I don’t mean it, I don’t mean it_. She thought of Mary _. I’m saying the words, it’s not a promise, God sees into all hearts_.

It was a relief once it was over. Clearly the bishop had seen nothing suspicious in her face, there were no shouts to arrest her or burn her at the stake. The bishop seemed more interested in the ritual than in the enthusiasm of either of them. They moved from one part of the ceremony to the next as smoothly as birds flying from one tree to another. Elizabeth looked at Philip, searching for some change in his face, but his gaze stayed wherever he placed it, and did not shift until it was lifted and moved straight to the next thing that must be looked at. This time her hand did not tremble and she was as calm as an icon when Philip kissed her, so lightly he was almost kissing the air.

There was at least dancing to look forward to. The first dance was an English one she and her ladies had prepared. Elizabeth looked only at her fellow dancers, and forced herself not to check if Philip was looking at her. As they smiled bravely she felt an affection for them all she hadn’t felt before. Spain was as strange to them as it was to her: more so, as they had been less than diligent in their research and their language-learning. They did not stumble or falter, and by the end of the dance she was cheered, and in the mood for more music. The Spanish ladies danced next, and Elizabeth searched for kind and merry faces among them. She would have recognised Maria and Juana even if they had not met at the gift giving, from the resemblance they shared so clearly with their brother. Elizabeth had sent a note to Maria to thank her for the fruit, but the correspondence had tailed off, as she’d travelled every day since. Both girls danced well, Juana with more flair. _I could make friends here I never would have met but for my marriage. I could find love among these ladies, even if Philip doesn’t want me, I will not die unloved_.

The Spanish and English ladies danced next, so Elizabeth made sure to seem friendly to each of them in turn. It was finally time for the Spanish gentlemen to dance, so the English ladies stood up a little straighter. An elegant man with a black beard and a long nose approached Elizabeth. She recalled him from earlier, standing next to Philip. He bowed to her and asked her to dance. Philip had the excuse of his ankles to keep him sitting, and he spoke only to gentlemen. Several of the men who had been standing by Philip danced with her, and were surprised by how long it took for her to tire. Elizabeth wondered if Philip were sending them to her like scouts sent to investigate the territory. They made polite conversation, but she kept her answers brief.

She suddenly thought that it would be better if they had a chance to talk privately, and was about to walk over to him and ask, when her ladies bundled her off to get her ready for bed.

There was no chance of speaking privately after that.

The bishop was a remarkably efficient old man, performing his rituals as deftly as a cook preparing a meal, and the day’s many ceremonies had not tired him. He prayed briskly yet sonorously over Elizabeth. Philip got into bed beside her, wrapped in a black velvet gown the moment the last syllable left his mouth. He did not look at Elizabeth. She was glad. She was wearing only her shift which suddenly felt very thin. Elizabeth thought that one day it would be familiar to her, the sight of him getting into bed. She wished suddenly to be able to see into the future, to know what would happen, even if the omens were only bad. There were no ribald puns, just pairs and pairs of eyes watching her as the priest finished his blessings. Philip took her hand in his own and held it up so that the court would see, and got out of bed without another word once they had finished clapping.

Elizabeth curled into a ball, and went to sleep.

* * *

It was not until the palace was still and the other revellers had gone to bed that he discreetly left his room. The night air was fresh on his face after all the day’s incense. He crossed the courtyard by the light of the moon and carefully climbed the outer stairs. He unlocked the door and slipped past and along the corridor to the bedchamber. He knocked slowly three times and then quickly twice. Isabel opened the door and locked it behind him. He sat himself down on the bed with a sigh, leaning his cane against the bedpost, as Isabel poured wine.

“To our new princess,” Isabel toasted. “May she have better fortune than her predecessor.” Philip closed his eyes.

“Your sister was in good spirits this evening, she'd have kept me up all night if she were older. Did you think of me, in the church?”

“I never think unholy thoughts in a holy place.”

Isabel smiled, passed him a glass of wine and sat down next to him. “Now you have a holy Isabel and an unholy Isabel.”

“Holy? She’s only been obedient to the pope for the last-“ Philip checked the time. “-thirteen hours.”

“That’s already longer than most kings of France.” They laughed. “So you’re here for a wedding night. Does that make me her proxy, or her my proxy?”

“Either way, am I not a fortunate man?”

Isabel slapped his arm. “Quite the Solomon, with your foreign women.”

“Two wedding nights down, nine hundred and ninety eight to go.”

“May your Isabel bring you bliss.”

“She always does.” Philip kissed her.


	7. Chapter 7

“For the Christian freeman will speak thus: I will fast, I will pray, I will do this or that, which is commanded me by men, not as having any need of these things for justification or salvation, but that I may thus comply with the will of the Pope, of the bishop, of such a community or such a magistrate, or of my neighbour as an example to him; for this cause I will do and suffer all things….And although tyrants may do me violence or wrong in requiring obedience to these things, yet it will not hurt me to do them, so long as they are not done against God.” Martin Luther, _On the Freedom of a Christian_ , 1520

**1546-1547**

Elizabeth addressed her ladies in her presence chamber on the next morning.

“I know you all for well-raised, honest, virtuous ladies, but do not forget yourselves because you’re far from home and surrounded by fine gentlemen. If you wish to marry, you will inform me and I shall pass on your name, without comment. You will then wait until after all rites have been _publicly_ performed. Betrothal is not sufficient. If you cannot wait to marry, this was not the opportunity for you. You may leave on the evening tide, with honour, and my good wishes. If you stay, however, you stay as chaste as nuns, no, as chaste as Vestals. If you fall, I must be your judge. I cannot be your advocate.” _No matter how much I might want to_. “Your honour is now my honour, the honour of your families and the honour of your homeland. Misbehave and all Englishwomen will be slandered, no matter how honest. To guard our nest from hawks, I forbid _any man_ to enter my chambers after sunset or before dawn. Footman, messenger, priest, musician, all conversation with men must be conducted in broad daylight.” _Especially with a priest_. “If you’re ill in the night, the doctor may diagnose you from the threshold, or a priest take your confession through the door.”

“What if the man is royal?”

“If the Emperor himself wants to enter, he must be told that my door opens at night for no man but my husband. Not even the Pope. He may leave a message with the most senior of you, who will bring the note to me.” It was a gamble, but in the unlikely event that that eventuality came to pass, Elizabeth trusted that Charles would be more impressed than irritated. Several of her ladies raised their eyebrows.

“We can entertain gentlemen in the daytime, surely?”

“We will. But all of you must always be accompanied by at least one other lady, and I must always be accompanied by at least two. Any gentleman entering my chambers must also bring a companion, unless the gentleman is the prince.” _If a man who spends time in my chambers is accused of adultery with me, his companion will be implicated and therefore compelled to defend both himself and his friend, leaving no man completely without help in the face of an accusation. It is far easier to bring down one accused man than it is to bring down two, especially if the men in question have powerful friends_.

It wasn’t enough to save her mother, but it was better than nothing. She would need every precaution she could take. _I must be free of every whisper, my reputations hangs by a thread. If any of my ladies are less than chaste, the shame will fall on me too. “The whoring daughter of a loose mother” they will say. “Lechery is in her blood. Perhaps her father wasn’t the king after all, but her uncle. She’s a corrupting influence on young girls, and she makes them bawds and accomplices to her lusts. They enter her household as soft virgins and leave as hard harlots.”_ Sometimes Elizabeth looked at a young woman and saw Katherine Howard looking back. Katherine had been raised in the household of Agnes Tilney, her father’s stepmother. When Katherine fell, Agnes joined her family in the Tower. Mercy was urged on the grounds of her age, but Elizabeth felt little pity for those she saw as failing to protect their charges, and sometimes wondered if a young girl had died for an old woman’s mistake. _My ladies must be more closely guarded than the harem of the Turk_. She wondered if Philip knew any eunuchs. She was tempted to ask him. _If my ladies don’t enjoy themselves under such strict rule, that doesn’t matter. We must all be protected._

In truth, Elizabeth’s ladies were not enjoying themselves. At Philip’s insistence, Elizabeth and her ladies had to attend Mass every day, several times on Sundays and even more on saints’ days (of which there were many). Between masses, there was a mountain of sewing to do, bales of shirts for the poor, standards for the army, altar cloths for what felt like every church from the Canaries to Istanbul. Elizabeth insisted on both quality and quantity, so that she could earn a charitable reputation, but the actual sewing she delegated to her ladies. She spent hours talking to the ambassador, to keep up with events in England, speaking to him in Greek so that her ladies couldn’t repeat the conversation. They quickly stopped listening and sewed through the audiences. Elizabeth also spent hours reading the Church Fathers. At first she had the books read aloud to her, but then read them in silence, as it was faster.

There was some respite when theologians came to answer her questions, but she debated with them (three against one) in such rapid and complex Latin that only the most learned of her ladies had a hope of keeping up. There was very little time left for music or dancing, let alone for flirting with gentlemen, under Elizabeth’s close supervision. It was like being a nun, only with a more opulent uniform. When Philip finally came to visit her chambers, he brought gentlemen with him, even though he didn’t have to. Elizabeth’s ladies thought this was overwhelmingly generous of him. He even brought a musician! They could almost weep.

Philip invited Elizabeth to a game of backgammon, while the gentlemen paired off to talk to the smiling ladies at a respectful distance.

“Thank you for bringing your gentlemen,” Elizabeth told Philip in Greek. “My ladies were about to revolt. Now they will be docile for a week.”

“Oh.” Philip seemed to have got the gist of what she said. “Good.”

He set up the board and she thought it best not to suggest they gamble. “Spanish is better for me, than Greek.”

“No doubt.” She smiled. “Do you have any other languages? Italian?”

“A little.”

“Latin?”

“Naturally.”

“French?”

“Yes, but it’s bad.”

“German?”

“Half the books in German are heretical.”

“And the other half?”

“Dull.”

She laughed. “I don’t have any German, which disappointed my stepmother.”

“I didn’t know your stepmother was German.”

“No, a previous stepmother, Anne of Cleves. She’s now my father’s sister.”

A stepmother who became an aunt. That was the opposite of Hapsburg policy, where an aunt became a stepmother.

“Did you like your stepmothers?”

“They were all kind women.”

“I’m sure Carlos will be just as fortunate in his stepmother.”

“I should like to see him, before the year is out. He should have a parent at Christmas.”

“He is too young to say thank you for his caps but I’m sure if he could, he would.”

Elizabeth rolled just the right combination to remove Philip’s most advanced checkers.

“Bugger,” he muttered in Spanish.

“’Bugger’? I haven’t learned that word yet, what does it mean?”

“Nothing. I mean. It’s not a very interesting word.” Philip did protest too much.

“….does it mean, ‘oh no’?”

“Yes, but I would really not advise repeating it.”

“Ah, I see. I promise not to tell your father that you taught it to me.”

“Thank you, madame.”

One of the ladies, talking to a married gentleman, gave a loud and flirtatious laugh. Elizabeth turned and gave her a stern look. She hung her head.

“You have them on a tight leash,” Philip remarked in Latin.

“To keep myself safe, not to make them miserable. There is safety in reputation.”

“I agree.”

“I must insist on their chastity. With all men.”

He knew exactly what she was implying. “Not unreasonable.”

Philip won two games, by a tight margin. She won the third. He rose.

“Thank you for the game. I must now leave for Aragon.”

If his bride felt relief, she did not show it. Elizabeth gave a quizzical smile, and it wasn’t until he was halfway down the corridor that Philip realised he’d made it sound as if he were going to Aragon because he had lost the game of backgammon. It was too late to go back and correct himself.

* * *

Elizabeth sat down with her steward to discuss expenditure. The income her father-in-law had granted for the coming year was lower than expected, for a princess. Charles had explained that it would be higher once she was fully grown, and then after she bore children, and after she was queen. Her steward was of the opinion that in the absence of a queen, she should have the queen’s income and fulfil the queen’s ceremonial duties, but Elizabeth had no intention of arguing with her father in law so soon. Charles had claimed the discount he gave himself was partly to reflect the fact she wouldn’t need money for gambling.

Elizabeth pored over the numbers. “There will be no need for me to employ musicians. If my ladies want music, they will make it themselves. We need only a servant to keep the instruments in good condition. And we don’t need as many masques as this budget thinks we do, or as many new clothes.”

“Highness, a certain degree of magnificence is expected of a princess.”

“Ostentation must wait, until my position is stronger. Better to look like a modest housewife than a foreign concubine, in these warlike times.” She did, however, set aside a hundred ducats for a future extravagance: her dream bathroom.

Eventually, she found herself ten thousand ducats under budget. She set aside two thousand ducats for any bribes she might need to make and an extra thousand ducats for alms-giving. The remaining seven thousand ducats she gifted to her father-in-law, for the war effort. It was a tiny fraction of the funds he was demanding from Philip, but it was for the sake of the gesture as much as the money.

Elizabeth met her stepson just before the twelve days of Christmas began. He was at play, wearing the smallest of her embroidered caps. She wasn’t quite sure how to behave, but she followed the actions of his nurses and trusted that he was too young to understand rank or precedence. Carlos walked into her arms, staggering as if he were on the deck of a ship.

“He hasn’t found his sea legs yet,” Elizabeth laughed. Her smile fell as she held him. His limbs felt far too thin. It couldn’t be that they weren’t feeding him enough. Her brother had been a fat little boy, and always clever for his age, but Carlos babbled like a much younger baby and Elizabeth couldn’t begin to understand him.

She felt his shoulders. They were uneven, and when she tickled his feet she realised his left leg was shorter than his right. She went to pick up one of his toys and he screamed. Elizabeth rocked him and hushed him, holding him close, as if tenderness could protect him from whatever disease would try and seize him next. He took a long time to calm down, in the arms of his nursemaid, after she had scooped him off Elizabeth, tear stains drying on his embroidered cap.

* * *

Elizabeth resolved to enjoy Christmas, and set aside her worries about her little stepson, and the sons that would be demanded of her if anything happened to him. One day at a time, as Kat Ashley would say. The mildness of the winter helped keep her spirits up, as did the letters and gifts from England. Philip was not often in her thoughts, and she was not often in his. He spent the winter presiding over the Cortes General of Catalonia, Valencia and Aragon. Each assembly met separately, so he was bounced like a tennis ball from one building to another, to hear their grievances and request taxes. Thanks to several all-nighters, he was finished before Christmas, but too drained to enjoy it.

The news of her father’s death came in February, and she wept, though more for Edward’s sake than for Henry’s. She sent the carefully chosen words of comfort to her brother and sister and stepmother, and put on mourning for him- she could hardly do otherwise. There was no possibility of attending the funeral.

Her mind turned to her brother, that tiny king of England. _Will his uncles keep him safe?_ Elizabeth did not trust people she did not know, and she did not know the Seymour brothers. _How much does my father-in-law know of Edward’s religion?_. Edward had sworn to keep the Channel open, and so had Parliament, but would the Lord Protector keep Edward’s word? What if Seymour decided to join with the French, and block the Channel until her dowry was handed back? _England needs the money_. There was little enough left in the coffers before her marriage. Edward wouldn’t expect her marriage to be consummated yet, would he annul it? What would happen to Edward? What would happen to her? _So many ifs_. What was even best for her? The possibility of going home was thrilling, but was it worth it, to roll the dice on a different marriage? She decided not _. Better the papist you know_. Philip was tolerable, and she was making progress with the Spanish. Edward and Thomas Seymour could easily decide to marry her to someone much worse, even if they chose a Protestant groom. _And if my second husband had any reason to dislike me, years in the future, he could find a way to use my annulled marriage against me_.

She realised then that she had assumed Charles V would let her go home at all, or yield one ounce of gold. Where was the proof he would accept Edward as king? Mary was the Emperor’s cousin, if she were on the throne he would find her a much more dependable ally, and so would the Holy Father. She might even marry a Hapsburg. By the terms of her own father’s will, Mary was Edward’s heir…so long as Edward died childless. _The longer Edward lives, the less likely it is that England will return to the Pope’s yoke. The Emperor would surely prefer that Edward have no child. Maybe he will ensure it._

It wasn’t only Mary’s accession that was appealing. If Mary died childless, by the terms of her own father’s will the throne passed to Elizabeth. That would secure the Royal Supremacy- if the Emperor had not been three steps ahead of everyone and acquired her for his son. _Did my father unwittingly hand over his kingdom to the Hapsburgs, and pay for the privilege?_

Elizabeth reassured herself that Mary cared for Edward; that she would never act against him. But did she have enough influence over her cousin to dissuade him? Would the Emperor pay attention to her wishes, or was he more akin to Henry VIII? He was her family and her international protector regardless of what he did. _You don’t need to persuade someone who’s already yours._

 _I have to act now_ she realised. If her actions were to mean anything, she had to act before they could commit to any action against Edward. Elizabeth hated having to act so fast, to rush was not in her nature, she needed time to think everything through, but there was no time. She had little hope of success, but leaving her brother in danger was her only other choice, which was no choice. Elizabeth dreamed of a knife cutting her mourning dress into little pieces. It made her feel sick to think of it the next morning, so she did her best to put it from her mind.

Philip had returned from Aragon and sent her his condolences, though his words of praise for his dead father-in-law were tellingly few. Elizabeth delayed for as long as she dared, before entering the hall where he was receiving petitions.

Before he had time to process his surprise, she knelt and kissed his fingers.

“I humbly beg my good lord, on behalf of my brother, the rightful king of England.” Philip glanced around the room over her head, trying to gauge the mood. Looks of confusion and discomfort were passing between the courtiers while the petitioners kept their eyes on the ground, careful to mask any opinion their sovereign had yet to permit. “Will you honour my father’s will, and acknowledge him as England’s king?”

Philip coughed. He had no time to think and she knew it. If they were in private they could discuss the nuances of the issue rather than compel a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Whatever he agreed to now, he was committed to. She knew that too.

“Your brother is my family,” he said blandly. To say that was already to commit himself more than was wise. “I am mindful of his interests as my brother. His brother. He is my brother, we are brothers. Because you’re my wife.”

“Does he sit the throne rightfully?” Elizabeth pressed. “I must know, for a sister’s comfort.”

“I-“ If he said yes, then his father and aunt would be furious if this contradicted any plans they had made. If he said no, and his father intended to acknowledge Edward in the event that Mary refused to press her claim, that would be as embarrassing as it was damaging. “These things cannot be lightly judged.”

“That is why I bring them to you, for your great judgement.”

“My judgement is that my father’s judgement would be best. In this at least. I have a headache. I shall now withdraw.”

“Then let me aid you,” Elizabeth added swiftly, so that she could not be dismissed. She looked nervous at the prospect of a private altercation. Philip couldn’t immediately think of a reason to dismiss her, so he nodded, and tried not to cringe until they were beyond the reach of eavesdroppers. Once the chamber door was closed, Philip relaxed by a fraction.

"You must not do that again."

"I did not do it lightly, I did it for my little brother, who is a child of _nine_ -"

"I cannot make him legitimate!" Philip snapped. "You should not have asked me to acknowledge him, in public-"

"He is legitimate! His mother married my father after my- after the death of the other...crowned women. His legitimacy doesn't contradict your cousin's. She has to defer to his claim, he's the son."

"He was born with the realm in schism, so the marriage doesn't count-"

"By that logic, then anyone who was born with the realm in schism is a bastard, even if they favour the pope. Would you call Spain's English friends bastards?"

Philip hesitated. "My aunt and the Bishop of Arras are the ones advising on this matter. This is their domain, not mine."

“But how was I to talk to her?” Elizabeth replied, not rudely. "Letters can be ignored."

She had a point. "Are you not concerned about the souls of England?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips into a line. "My father commanded that I continue to support my brother as king and Supreme Head. It is no insult to you if God requires me to honour my father. My brother is nothing if not God-fearing, and kings far older than him have quarrelled with popes."

"We discuss our differences in private, we do _not_ quarrel in public."

"We did not quarrel in public." _That was the point._

“You should have-“ he was about to say ‘trusted me’ but he could hardly command her to trust him. "I will put your brother's case to my father, and my aunt. I can't promise to make us all bosom friends, as I can't make your brother behave himself. I'll do what I can, but you can't expect me to ignore your sister's wishes. We have duties to her. If he keeps his end of the bargain, I think we should have a strong enough peace. Will that satisfy?"

"As much as it would satisfy you, if you were in my position, and your sister was the one in danger," Elizabeth blurted out.

Philip was surprised, but thought it over. "Next time, tell me what you need in private. And don't kneel. Makes me feel like the Turk."

"You can trust me not to act so drastically again. So long as I have no reason to fear that drastic action is needed, for me to be heard."

"I think we have a bargain, then." They clasped hands in agreement.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the delay! Until the next chapter, do feel free to check out Karliene's awesome album Elizabeth, or the Anne Boleyn inspired tracks by Claudia Boleyn. All available on Youtube, very much recommend them.

“You should not think that your studies will prolong your childhood. Instead, they will make you grow in honour and reputation so that, despite your youth, you will be taken for a man. Becoming a man early is not a matter of thinking or desiring it, or of being fully grown, but solely of having the judgement and knowledge necessary to act as a man, and as a wise, sane, good and honourable man. For this to happen, everyone needs education, good examples and discourses.” Charles V in his _Instructions_ to his son.

**1547-8**

By the end of April, Edward had been recognised by every prince except the pope. A letter arrived for Elizabeth in the king’s hand, thanking ‘our dear sister, whom the seas cannot weary, and who has such care for us.’ Not long after, the Ambassador informed Elizabeth that Queen Katherine had married Thomas Seymour, and Mary had left her household. The emperor defeated the Schmalkaldic League at Muhlberg, and Elizabeth thought that was quite enough events for one month.

 _England will become a hub for Lutherans_ Charles warned Philip in a letter _. They’ll live beyond the reach of the law_. Philip wondered how long the alliance could hold, with Edward trying to impose his faith on his sister, who would rather impose her faith on him. _If you wrong the King of England, I am the first to know_ he replied. The emperor had arranged this marriage, so if the emperor made it a problem for Philip through his policies, Philip was determined to make it the emperor’s problem as well.

Philip visited Elizabeth infrequently for most of the year. What little time was left after matters of state he preferred to use to rest with his friends, or hear Mass, lest his wife assume he was permanently tired. He kept her informed through notes passing between their chambers. Most of what he told her he was sure the ambassador had told her already, but to build trust, Philip judged that he should begin with honesty.

“Honesty itself needs trust,” Elizabeth told him one evening, as they shared a dish of fruit, tiredness making her blunt. “Men lash out at women when a word’s out of place, and then call women sly for never speaking plainly.”

Philip had not thought of that before, and it would occupy his mind for much of the next day. “I am not going to harm you,” he told her. “Do you believe me?”

She said yes, but her eyes were not quite convinced.

In truth, he was not quite sure how to act around her, and she was not quite sure how to act around him. He had been married before, but almost every aspect of that had been under his guardians’ control. There had been very little time for him to act like a husband (whatever that even meant) and he didn’t think he had been very good at it. Too quiet, too distant. No-one now was telling him what to do about Elizabeth, the two were mostly left to get on with it. All in all, much more improvisation than Philip was comfortable with.

He continued to enjoy Isabel de Osorio, every so often. The act made him feel like an adult; and it certainly didn’t hurt his confidence to have a beautiful woman shouting that he was the most skilful lover since Alcibiades. His life with Manuela had been entirely in public, his life with Isabel was entirely in private, and neither was much preparation for the responsibility of a young girl’s welfare. (Charles V and Isabel de Osorio saw eye to eye on nothing, so Philip always thought it amusing that his father and his paramour had been united in their desire to get him out of the monastery.) Elizabeth looked like a child, and he thought of her as a child, but sometimes she spoke like a world-weary woman of forty.

In Elizabeth’s eyes, she had to be friendly to Philip, but not too friendly. A flirtatious child would be absurd, repulsive. If she flirted with him, he might be uncomfortable, or worse, take it as invitation that she wanted to do adult things. The idea of him seeing her as a child felt humiliating, patronising, someone to be mollified and patted on the head, like her brother. The idea of him seeing her as a woman felt frightening. Overall, conversing on paper was much easier than in person.

 _Well, I suppose I should at least greet her properly_ Philip thought.

“Elisabel, how do you say _buenas noches_ in English?”

“Good night.”

“Good night?”

“Yes.”

“Good night, my wife.”

* * *

In May, Philip turned twenty, and Elizabeth gave him a handkerchief she had embroidered with the flowers she saw him looking at during their garden walks. Unlike her charity sewing, hers were the only hands she allowed to touch the gift. Philip thought it far too pretty to make dirty, so it was kept but never used. He pondered what he should give her when she turned fourteen. He settled on pairs of gloves, some decorative pairs, and some practical pairs. She had elegant hands and she knew it, always happy to display them, as he’d noticed.

For the rest of the year, they lived in cordial peace. Philip had his work, his friends and his paramour. He left Elizabeth to her studies and his sisters, whose task was enviably easier. They could not deny, it was more congenial than they’d feared. The ideal political marriage, Philip thought, was a friendly working partnership, with no more passion than was needed to conceive children. Passion led to jealousy and possession, to attachment and demands. So far, things looked promising.

Philip’s calmness was one thing Elizabeth liked about him. After Henry VIII’s court, where everyone had lived in terror of the king’s rages, his mood shifting faster than quicksand, Philip’s unflappability was manna in the desert. He did not say much, but he thought before he spoke. She found it irritating when people would prattle on and never come to a point, or fill the air with nonsense. Philip treated his words as if they were gold coins and spent them carefully. She thought he was the kind of man who’d raise an eyebrow and consider that quite enough emotion expressed for one day. Once Philip had offhandedly mentioned they were chewing the fat.

“Hardly,” she teased. “There’s no fat on your words.”

She continued to visit shrines, keeping track of the holiest days to visit, giving altar cloths with her own hands and graciously accepting the thanks and praise of the recipients. The work was, after all, of the highest quality.

 _It’s not idolatry_ she assured herself as she lit candles and prayed. _It’s only idolatry if I pray to the image. If the image simply happens to be in front of me, while I am praying, that does not mean I am praying_ to _it, even if that’s what it looks like_.

Most of the local towns and cities welcomed her, but the people of Alcala de Henares were cool in their reception. Catherine of Aragon had been born in the Archbishop’s palace, and the people had not forgotten. Nobody was bold enough to insult her, but mutters spread across the square. “The King has sold his son,” they would say.

When the Emperor’s Instructions arrived, Philip sat Elizabeth down and went through them with her. If she was to be a Hapsburg she might as well learn how Hapsburgs worked. If anything happened to him, Maria would be regent for Carlos, but he had nevertheless promised to tell Elizabeth anything important.

 _Your first and most secure friendship and trust must be with Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria_. Elizabeth stored the name in her memory.

Philip saw Elizabeth’s lips quirk up a fraction at one section in particular. _You may find yourself at variance with the pope regarding the sovereignty of Naples and Sicily, and regarding the patronage of the Spanish Church. Behave with the submission of a good son of the Church, and without giving them any just cause for offence with you. But do this without any prejudice to the pre-eminences, prosperity and peace of the said kingdoms._

That was one benefit, he supposed, of having a dubious Catholic for a wife. His wife would trouble him with no pangs of grief or guilt if he quarrelled with the pope and found himself excommunicated.

_I will not finally decide who shall be Lord of the Netherlands until the two of you can come here and see the country for yourself._

_The two of you._ Elizabeth’s heart leaped. _Does that mean me?_ Perhaps it only meant Maria.

“Will I go with you, to the Netherlands?” She tried to sound indifferent.

“You won’t be left as Regent, so I don’t see why you should not join me.” Philip straightened the pages. The advice on handling the pope prompted an unthinking question: “You are a true Christian, now? You’ve left your old errors behind?”

Elizabeth frowned. “I pray God that the earth might open and swallow me up alive if I am not a true Roman Catholic,” she insisted, and stomped out of the room.

It was not entirely a lie. Elizabeth was not quite sure what to believe, about the finer points of doctrine. Divine truth was not as self-evident as she had first thought. The papists were not as dismissive of Scripture as she assumed they were, nor were they as strict about keeping it in Latin, and keeping it for the clergy alone. “In your own experience, Highness, you must have found that translation is not simply a matter of swapping words. A Latin word and its Spanish counterpart are not simply two sides of the same coin. There are so many nuances, so many different connotations to two seemingly similar words. We could easily slip into error if the picture is slanted even by a fraction.”

“Jerome managed it,” her reply had been. “Our Bible is his conversion of the Greek into Latin. There must be scholars of today who can match his quality, though few. And if the current words can’t catch the meaning, we should make the original words new Spanish words. Inkhorn words, my old tutor called them.”

Yet to turn from her old beliefs felt like betrayal. If the Reformist answer was wrong, she couldn’t consider the answer damnable. That would mean damning Katherine Parr, and Ascham and Grindal, Robert Dudley and Kat Ashley, and especially Edward. If they were right, and Philip was wrong, and Maria, and Juana, she didn’t want them damned instead. She didn’t even want her Catholic theology tutors to go to Hell. _What a wearying debate this all is_. She was almost tired of it.

* * *

In January it was confirmed that yes, Elizabeth would join Philip in visiting his father in the Netherlands.

“No room for me?” Isabel nuzzled his cheek.

“People would ask why my sister stays in Spain and just one of her ladies travels with me.”

“I could serve your wife, as a lady.”

Philip gave a hollow laugh. “Then she’d cloister you away with all her other ladies, and I’d never get the chance to see you.”

“I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too.”

“Bring me back a gift, from your travels.”

* * *

There was still work to be done, so Elizabeth and Charles were kept waiting until Philip was ready to leave. They were at Valladolid when the news finally reached Elizabeth that her stepmother had died of a fever, just after giving birth. Maria went to comfort her, and see if she could be cheered.

“I wept so much when my mother died, I got thirsty.” Maria passed her a fresh handkerchief. “You must miss her even more, now.”

“Yes.” was all Elizabeth said.

Maria promptly decided that Philip should be told, and went straight to fetch him. They prayed together as a group.

“Do you wish to delay the voyage? Father has waited ten months, he can wait another one. Would you rather stay with Maria?”

“No, I shall be myself in a few days. Nothing needs to change.”

Maria discreetly dragged Philip out of the room. “We need to think of something to help.”

“Music? Dancing? She likes dancing. Maybe you should plan a masque.”

“I don’t think so, she might not want to have everyone’s eyes on her. I think you should spend some time with her this evening, get to know her a little better. If she feels like she belongs with us, here, then perhaps she will not miss her English family quite so much.”

After supper, Philip and Elizabeth withdrew to the study and sat by the fire with wine and fruit. The servants dismissed, he invited Elizabeth to tell him what she knew of English history. It was not urgent knowledge, he explained, but a desire for some recreational learning. She decided to tell him of her grandfather and the wars between the cousins. Her own parents were too-recent history, too notorious. She went back beyond the wars, to tell him of Duke Humphrey’s library, the strategy at Agincourt, the errors of the Edwards, and the demands of the barons. Sometimes she would wander from the point, and Philip would set her back on track with a question. History strayed into legend, so she had to go on detours to explain which was which, and what was her own speculation. When Philip thought it might be time to get some sleep, he looked at the window and noticed it was dawn. He apologised, and said it would be best to cancel as many of her duties tomorrow as possible, so that she could rest.

Mass still had to be heard, however, so they did their best to keep their eyes open. The sermon was long, however, and the preacher’s voice was so smooth and flat that it lulled the pair of them until Philip’s eyelids were drooping, and Elizabeth went to sleep on his shoulder. Juana and Maria shook them awake. Philip was bashful, but Elizabeth simply scowled, grumbling under her breath that if the preacher didn’t want her to nod off then he shouldn’t be so tedious.

* * *

Elizabeth was pleased when Philip returned that afternoon to continue their conversation. She was amazed by how much he could recall of the previous night’s discussion, even the finer details. It filled her with contentment, a simple warmth from being listened to. If he continued to listen to her on the tour, the journey might prove as entertaining as the destination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a cosmic law of the universe that no matter the AU, Philip must at some point fall asleep during Mass.


End file.
